Mileage
by Carlier36
Summary: Nate and Sophie's past as related to a series of flashy, elegant cars.


Disclaimer: I do not own Leverage nor am I associated with Dean Devlin, Timothy Hutton or Gina Bellman. No copyright infringement is intended.

**Mileage**

Nate Ford was never an extravagant man. He had fine taste and knew how to enjoy himself, but he knew how to do it on a small budget. He stayed at motels with full room service instead of hotels, he packed delicious home lunches to take with him and he sacrificed thread count on his signature black jackets. However, there was one thing he _never_ skimped on: cars.

_London, 1999 – 1960 MG MGA_

Almost a week he had already spent scouring the city for the pretty brunette thief he just knew had to be behind this. He remembered her from Prague, that red dress more memorable even than the Degas clutched in her hands. He had her name now at least: Jenny Sousa, from Sterling's files. It should be easy to track her down. And yet it _wasn't_. She was nowhere to be found and neither was Blackpoole's painting.

Saturday morning Nate woke feeling sorry for himself and decided on a few hours off. He showered, shaved and dressed and headed out to the parking lot to treat himself to a drive.

His car was gone, however, replaced by a note thumb-tacked to the fence.

_ I'll have her back by sunset; don't worry your curly little head about it. She was just too red and beautiful and tempting. I'm a thief after all, aren't I?_

_ Sophie_

He decided right then, even with his car gone, that he liked this woman.

_New York, 2001 – 1968 Buick LeSabre convertible_

After Damascus, she was still flirting but she wasn't serious yet. She liked to toy with him, liked to tease him, just to see how far she could push.

"Nice car."

Nate looked up sharply from the file in his hands, nearly tripping over the curb as he stared at her lying on the hood of his car. "Get off the hood; you'll dent it!" he cried to cover his surprise. "Why are you in New York? What's in New York?"

Sophie raised an eyebrow, drawing her foot up the length of the hood towards her. "But it brings out my eyes."

"Your eyes are brown, Sophie."

"Fine. It brings out _your_ eyes." Sophie pouted teasingly at him, snatching the file. "What are you after this month?" Flipping it open, her eyes widened and she gasped quietly. "My god… Isn't that just the most beautiful blackmail you've ever seen? Nate Ford researching car shows instead of doing his job like a good little drone? My, my."

Nate grabbed the file out of her hand, flushing. "Get off the hood." He tossed the manila folder onto the passenger seat as he pulled open the driver's side door. "I mean it, Sophie. I _will _drive with you up there and I won't stop when you fall off."

Sophie smirked, rolling onto her stomach so she met his eyes through the windshield. "I'd like to see you try it."

Raising an eyebrow, Nate turned the key in the ignition and laid on the gas. Sophie tumbled off onto asphalt with a gasp. "_Nate!_"

Nate slowed down but didn't stop. "I _gave _you warning. What more do you want?"

She watched him drive off, admiring the glint of sunlight on blue paint and brown curls, a smile on her face in spite of her torn dress.

_Paris, 2002 – 1956 Ford Thunderbird two-seat convertible with hardtop_

"Oh, _Nate_."

"Why is it that I always seem to find you on my hood?"

Sophie smiled breathlessly, her eyes dancing. "Now _this _is a car," she murmured, her hands sliding over the bright white finish.

Nate stepped forward, pulling her off the hood by her hand. "Get off the hood, Sophie." His voice was quiet and suggestive in her ear, his free hand resting on her waist.

"Take me for a spin," she begged, pressing closer to him. Her flirting was serious nowadays, those blue eyes holding her captivated every time he looked her way, her body aching for his gentle hands. "Come on, Nate, just a ride around the block."

Nate eyed her, took a moment too long to take in her perfume, before nodding. "All right, all right, fine. But just around the block."

She was in the passenger seat before he'd finished speaking, biting her lip in quivering desire. "That's one thing you Americans do well," Sophie murmured, running her hands over the dash.

"Make you fall to pieces?" Nate was beside her again, his voice in her ear, too close. He was quiet, almost whispering, gripping the seat fiercely. Sophie turned to answer but he caught her in his gaze and her throat closed over any coherent words. Sliding a hand across her stomach to her side, he let his fingers graze the scrap of bare skin where her blouse rode up. "Or make you tremble with want?"

Sophie swallowed hard, forcing calm on her nerves. "You're supposed to be taking me for a spin." She raised an eyebrow, resting her hand suddenly on his cheek. "Or you could just take me."

Nate's hand slipped off her to grip the edge of the door, his eyes flickering between hers and her lips. They parted around a sharp breath and he moaned and before he knew what he was doing, she was kissing him, long and hard and the furthest thing from his mind was stopping this. His knee pressed against hers and they felt like teenagers again, only they knew what they were doing and it was Paris, not Make-out Ridge. Her fingers tangled in his hair, pulling him closer, kissing him deeper.

"Sophie!" Nate jerked away abruptly, rationality returning to him unexpectedly. "Sophie, I _can't_."

"You want to. You were. Why not?" Sophie ran her hand up his shoulder, wanting him to push her back flat on the seat and have his way with her but wanting him to be happy first.

"Because I'm married. Because I love Maggie. I can't do that to her for a backseat fling!"

"There is no backseat." Her joke fell flat and Sophie sighed. "Fine. Go home to your darling Maggie. You owe me a spin though."

It stung when he shot her in the back and for a moment she thought she would never get her joyride, his arm around her shoulders and her hair blowing in the wind.

_Siena, 2004 – 1966 Bizzarrini P538 S_

Red was always her color. Lipstick, dresses, eye-catching pumps, she loved everything in red, and especially cars. Sophie was on top of the world, driving too fast through Tuscany, her hair tied back with a scarf and the ends whipping in the wind as she pulled into the city. Not to mention that she was about to help Nate _bury_ Tara Chase.

Nate stood on the sidewalk, his hands in his pockets, wondering what had possessed him to call Sophie. They hadn't spoken in two years, not since Paris. It was understandable. She had every right, every reason, to hate him. That had been the point, after all. If she hated him, she could focus on the bullet he put in her instead of the invasive kiss they'd shared.

"Nathan Ford." He could hear the smile in her voice before he looked up from his feet and his eyes closed of their own volition. Nate felt a small smile tug at the corner of his mouth as he met her gaze, sweeping his own over the fluid lines of the car. "You still owe me a spin in that lovely little Tbird but I think this works better for our con."

Nate slowly pulled his hand out of his pocket. "Now _this_ is a car," he murmured and Sophie laughed out loud, opening her door.

She walked around the front and stopped in front of him, her hands on his chest. "I believe that's my line."

Nate met her eyes and then his arms were around her, holding her close. _I missed you_. It hung between them, not needing to be said. "Come on, we have a little fun to play."

He waited outside in the car while she changed in her hotel room and when she finally reemerged in red satin crepe, he was relaxed in the driver's seat. "You stole my steering wheel," Sophie pouted, a hand on her hip.

"Yes, I did."

Sophie rolled her eyes and walked around to the other side, making sure he got an eyeful of the crisscrossed back before she settled in her seat. Nate groaned as he started the car, draping an arm over her shoulders.

"We're picking right up where we left off," he whispered in her ear as he pulled away from the curb.

Rubbing on a little fresh lipstick, Sophie examined herself again in a compact. "Glad you approve."

He spent the entire night touching her: his hand on the small of her back, his arm around her shoulders, his lips on the slope of her neck. _It's just a con, it's just a con_, became justification. He wasn't cheating; he was doing his job.

Tara never showed. Sophie talked to her months later after they had made up and discovered she hadn't been in Siena at all. She had, in fact, been in Paris, on the Seine. _Bloody hell._

But they had fun in their little red racing car, his eyes never leaving her and her never leaving his side.

_Los Angeles, 2008 – 2008 Tesla roadster_

"It's so new." Sophie wrinkled her nose, hands on her hips as she stood in the door to Nate's garage, staring at the Tesla.

Nate sighed. "Not every car I drive has to have been made before 1970. I drove a new Mercedes in Astana, remember?"

"Doesn't matter." Sophie waved a hand. "That was Kazakhstan. Not a lot of options."

"You really don't like this? Look at those lines, Sophie." Nate grabbed her hand, pulling her over to the car. "Look how beautiful she is."

Sophie shivered at the touch of cold metal on her palm, smiling in spite of herself. "I'm not saying she isn't stunning. She just isn't you. You're a classic kind of thief."

Nate rolled his eyes, pulling the door open and gesturing for her to climb in. "How about I take you for a spin?"

She hesitated for half a second before sliding into the passenger seat. Running her hands over the leather, she took a deep breath. "Mmm. I love that smell."

"Leather?" Nate flashed back to that look on her face in Paris and had to shake himself out of the memory.

"Your cologne. Whatever it is."

He started in surprise, turning the key. The car roared to life beneath them and Sophie shivered again. "We've had a lot of good times in a lot of great cars, haven't we?"

Nate smiled, squeezing her shoulder as he pulled out of the driveway. "A _lot _of great cars. We've got a car for every city."

"Every memory." Sophie stroked her fingers over his hand subconsciously, thinking. "We've really been lucky, Nate, even with all our troubles."

"It's not luck when you're counting cards," he teased, running his fingers up into her hair.

Sophie poked him in the side for being childish, laughing. "Counting cards isn't illegal."

"True. I seem to remember you have every mobster in Monte Carlo wrapped around your finger. You could roll loaded dice all night and they wouldn't care."

"It's a gift."

_London, 2009 –1956 Ford Thunderbird two-seat convertible with hardtop_

Nate stood looking up at the apartment building, shading his eyes with one hand. _Don't do it. _He walked inside, punched Sophie's floor in the elevator. _Don't do it. You promised her you wouldn't do it._ Sophie opened the door and slammed it again the moment she saw him but he caught it with one hand.

"Sophie, listen to me. I'm not here to beg you to come back; I'm not even here to ask."

Sophie pursed her lips but pulled the door open slightly. "What?" she demanded, standing with one hand on her hip so he couldn't push passed her.

"I have something downstairs I want you to come look at. Something you'll appreciate." Nate stuffed his hands self-consciously in the pockets of his jacket. _I hope_.

She eyed him for a long moment before sighing, tossing a hand in the air. "Fine. Give me a second." Disappearing into the bedroom, it took her too long to get dressed. Finally, she came out in a purple dress and Nate grimaced, shaking his head. He grabbed her shoulders and turned her around, walking her back into the bedroom. "No, no, no. Put on something red." Digging through her closet, he pulled out a short little sweater dress and held it up to her. "Yeah, this one. Put on this one."

"_Why?_" Sophie demanded irritably.

"Just do it. I will stand here and watch if it's what it takes."

Sophie made a face, shoving him out of the room. She changed quickly and walked out into the living room, annoyed. "Show me," she said as if she just didn't have the time of day for him.

Taking her elbow in his hand, Nate led her to the elevator. He dropped his arm to his side while they waited silently to reach ground level and sighed in relief when they finally did. The quiet was pressing between them heavily and he could only pray the little reminder of the past, of something she loved, would bring her back to him.

The Thunderbird sat out front, shiny and white, the top off. She caught sight of it before he even had the door open. "Nate! You got rid of that car years ago!" Rushing outside, she ran her hands over the side of the car and looked back at him with dancing, smiling eyes.

"I knew who I sold it to. Hardison didn't have any trouble tracking it down," Nate murmured, smiling slightly.

Sophie took a moment to digest Nate hunting down their mutual past. "The red dress…"

"The red dress," Nate agreed, nodding. Before he saw her move, her arms were around his neck, squeezing him tight. Sliding his hands up her back so one gripped her shoulder and the other arm wrapped around her waist, Nate buried his face in her shoulder. _I miss you._ "I miss you, Sophie," he whispered. "I don't miss your real name. I miss _Sophie_. She's the woman I fell in love with all those years ago and that's okay because _she's you_. The red dress and the Tbird, they're still you, Soph." He held her close for a long moment, breathing her perfume. Finally pulling away, he kissed the top of her head. "The car's yours whether you come home or not." He turned and walked away down the sidewalk.

Maybe it took her longer than it should have to call after him but she did and that was all that mattered. "Nate!" He turned slowly around on his heel, too casual.

"I believe you owe me a spin."

A slow, easy smile spread across his face and he was back beside her in three long strides, his arms around her and his lips firmly on hers.


End file.
